


I Found

by chaoticamanda



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Depression, F/M, Friendship, Infinite Eyerolls, Reckoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-16 06:46:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3478370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticamanda/pseuds/chaoticamanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year later Wirt finds himself in the place where it all began, but this time he's not searching for a way out, he's searching for a way to save the girl he promised to never forget before he loses her like he's lost himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Remember Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories of darkness obstruct your view in the light// A foothold eludes you as your lungs flood with the tide//So remember me, write my name on a stone.

“I miss you…” the woman whispered, caressing his face. He focused on the darkness of her eyes, hoping that he wouldn't have to face the truth if he only kept looking.

“I...miss you too. I didn’t think…” He watched as her eyes became glossed with tears.

“You have to go, don’t you? I don’t want you to leave again. I can’t see you, and you can’t see me.” She pulled away, and he couldn't look at her eyes anymore. He brought her hand to his lips.

“It’s going to be okay.”

“You’ll forget me,” she said with a sob, “I’ll be alone.”

“No--”

 

Wirt woke from his dream with a start, his eyes shooting open. His breath was ragged and his fists were clenched around his pale sheets. It was only 4:45 AM. This wasn't the first time he’d had such a...confusing dream. In fact, his dreams seemed to be part of a series; an ongoing affair where he had no idea what was going on.

Deciding that there was no more sleep to be had, he sat up and began to dress himself. Wirt forced himself not to look at the red cone on the top shelf in his closet. His mother had tried to throw his costume away, saying that it was musty and it held bad memories anyway. He refused, and he wouldn’t tell her why. The truth was that he didn't exactly know why, but he felt like there was some sort of significance to it. She had given up with a sigh and the outfit had sat on the shelf collecting dust ever since.

By the time Wirt had found a sweater and a pair of pants that matched, it was almost quarter past five, which was late enough for him to be awake without anyone questioning it.

Before he made his way to the kitchen for a bland breakfast, he stopped to look at himself in the mirror that hung next to his door. In a feeble attempt to erase the exhaustion from his face, Wirt slapped himself.

There was no luck, and he was left with the dark circles and the paleness of those that are unwell. A brief image of Greg becoming an Edelwood flashed before his eyes as he looked at himself in the mirror and Wirt flinched. He went down to the kitchen and prepared to smile when his mother came down. It was getting harder.

 

“Hey, Wirt!” Sara called, breaking him from the trance he’d previously been in. The color of one of his textbooks was a light shade of blue, a blue that was so familiar….

“Oh, hey, Sara,” Wirt looked up sheepishly, “How are you?”

She gave him a kiss on the cheek that made him blush, but it was no where near as deep as it used to be. “I’m alright, but how are you? You look awful, Wirt.”

Wirt looked down at his textbook, “Well, gee, thanks.”

“You know what I mean,” she smiled, and she was so pretty that Wirt felt guilty that his chest was bare of any sort of constriction that he had always felt when he’d looked at her. “Seriously, are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine,” he smiled a smile that didn’t meet his eyes, but she seemed satisfied.

“So, about Halloween...are you gonna come to the party?” Sara was tiptoeing around the subject, and Wirt didn’t blame her. It was coming up on a year since he and Greg had journeyed through the Unknown. Sometimes Wirt wondered if they’d ever escaped.

“Uh….I don’t know, I kinda promised Greg something about a, uh, a frog hunt, but--” There were no more frogs around town, according to Greg, but he needed an excuse. He had an idea about how he wanted to spend his Halloween, and it was alone, lamenting quietly to himself.

“Okay…” Sara looked down and she seemed to be gathering up her courage for something. “I’m going to go with Willy Buntz then, alright?” It was one last attempt to salvage what had never even really been there.

“Okay,” Wirt said quietly, continuing to stare at his book. It was over. Sara did not talk to him for the rest of the day.

He went home alone, like always, and laid on his bed to pass the time until he had to walk to Greg’s bus stop. His clarinet lay forgotten in the corner. It’s sweet melody had lost its ring and had since become a shrieking sound that hurt his ears. His step-father had questioned the loss of it’s music drifting through the house, but Wirt only shrugged in response.

“Wirt…” She was here again, standing in front of him. He had no name for the woman; all he knew was that she looked familiar and she had starred in his dreams recently, but he could never remember where he knew her from. It was odd to feel like you knew someone, but couldn't even place their name-- especially when you shared such intimate exchanges. They were always so sad, but Wirt was finding that everything around him was sad now. “Wirt, what am I going to do?”

“What?” he asked, tilting his head and moving off of his bed to stand with her, “What’s wrong?”

The girl with the dark eyes looked down, hugging herself, “They’re trying to make me get married.”

“But you’re only seventeen!” He knew this, somewhere deep down in his chest. She was seventeen, and so was he.

“It’s different here…”

“Where are you?” It was a question he’d never asked her before, content to bathe in their soft affections for each other.

She looked at him sharply, and he could see fear in her eyes. “What? You know where I am. You were here too.”

Wirt looked down for a moment before meeting her eyes again. His voice was only a whisper when he finally spoke, _“Who_ are you?”

The girl looked like she was going to cry, and Wirt’s chest hurt. “Stop, Wirt, this isn’t funny. You know who I am.”

“I-I don’t, I’m sorry. Just-- Just tell me your name so I can remember, please,” he grabbed her hand, “...please, I want to remember.”

The girl was crying now. She wouldn't answer him. He didn’t know what to do, and they stood there awkwardly for what seemed like eternity. Finally, she looked at him defiantly, “I thought we were friends, Wirt. I thought you wouldn't forget me! I thought I wouldn't have to sit here and eat Mom’s dirt alone for the rest of my life!”

Her last sentence struck a chord in him, and he struggled to remember where that phrase had been said to him before. It was on the other side, when bluebirds had huddled around him and he was without his brother. When all he had was that stupid frog, and even Beatrice--

Beatrice.

“Beatrice!”

“Wirt! Wirt!” The air went out of his lungs as he was jolted awake by his little brother.

“G-Greg…? What….” He was groggy and startled, Beatrice’s face was splintering and quickly fading to the back of his mind where dreams often dwelled.

“Wirt, you silly-billy! You fell asleep!” Greg had climbed onto Wirt’s bed and had been shaking him awake.

“What?” Wirt realized what had happened and he shot up, swaying a little, “Oh, jeez, Greg, I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I just--”

“It’s okay,” Greg leaned back, “You needed to sleep. Jason and I have been worrying about you.”

Wirt looked at Greg, his fingers freezing in the middle of trying to tame his bedhead, “What?”

“You’re always so sad, Wirt! Too sad for your clarinet, even! But I bet Dr. Greg could fix you right up!” The boy began to bounce on top of his brother, beaming.

“Oh, yeah?” Wirt asked softly, looking away from Greg. He knew he was depressed, but he hadn’t thought that even Greg had picked up on it. His stomach felt like it was tied in knots. He didn’t want Greg to suffer. “Do you think I could get an appointment with him?”

Greg stopped his bouncing, becoming a serious little child doctor. “I’ll have to look at my schedule, but I might be able to fit you in.” With that, the little boy jumped off his brother’s bed and hurried out of Wirt’s room.

Wirt shook his head with a sigh, and he retreated under his covers, trying to recover the fleeting memories of his dream. It had finally clicked in his mind that the girl he talked to in his dreams was Beatrice in her human form. He’d never seen her like that-- his last memory was of a bluebird flying away with a pair of golden scissors in her feet. Wirt hadn’t recognized her voice; the last time he’d heard it in person was almost a year ago, after all, and the dreams had only started three weeks ago.

 _“They’re trying to make me get married,”_ she had cried. Though he had only known Beatrice for a short amount of time, he couldn’t imagine her being married, or even being forced into it. She’d always been strong-willed and loud in her distaste for things.

It occurred to Wirt that they had only conversed in dreams, and it was likely that Beatrice had not even spared a thought for him in the last year. It made his stomach twist when he thought about it, but Greg did not give him much time for reflection.

The seven year old bounded back into Wirt’s room with a plastic stethoscope around his neck and Jason Funderberker in his arms. “The doctor is _in!”_

Wirt’s lips pulled up in a small smile, and that only made Greg all the happier. “Nurse Funderberker and I will die-nos you!” Gre began to poke and prod at his brother while Jason observed from a spot on Wirt’s bed. Occasionally Greg would pause to ask his frog-nurse if he was taking notes.

After three minutes, Greg finally stood back from his brother and nodded with confidence, “I know exactly what’s wrong, Patient. It’s a classic case of the Blues!”

Wirt had been light-hearted during his “check-up”, but now he was tense. He didn’t want to discuss how sad he was about everything and his lack of interest in things he used to enjoy, especially with his eight year old brother. “Oh?” he asked quietly.

“Yep! It happens when you get hurt or when you miss somebody or when your mom takes away your candy…” Greg began to trail off, narrowing his eyes at some place next to Wirt.

Wirt waved his hand in front of Greg’s face and asked, “Well, doc, can you fix me?”

Greg tilted his head at his brother and replied thoughtfully, “I don’t know. Only the person who’s got the Blue’s knows how to really fix it! But, I do have something I can give you,” Greg grinned deviously at Wirt, hiding both of his hands behind his back.

Wirt swallowed at his brother’s words, balling his fist so hard that his fingernails dug into his hand. He would not cry in front of Greg. “What’s that?” Wirt asked, trying to pretend there wasn’t the slightest hint of wobble in his voice.

“A rock fact! I made a new rock!” Greg presented Wirt with a smaller rock that had googly eyes and glitter messily glued to it. “You wanna know what it is?”

Wirt looked away, pushing the darkness out of his mind. “Sure.”

“It’s that I love you, Wirt!”

 

“Are you real?” Wirt asked Beatrice that night in his dreams in the old mill that Greg and he had once discovered. “Are you actually talking to me?”

“What does that even mean?” She threw her hands up and shook her head, huffing.

“Like...how do I know this isn’t all just some weird scenario my mind made up?” Wirt would have been lying if he said he wouldn’t be disappointed if it wasn’t true.

Beatrice looked pained at whatever she was thinking about, so Wirt asked another question, “If this is real, what if we can see each other again? You know, as-- as long distance friends. Not like-- nevermind. But what if this could be physical?” Wirt blushed and backtracked, “I-I mean, like if we could actually, like-- you know, see each other, not the...other….” Wirt let himself trail off and looked around to see if there were any nearby holes he could climb into.

“How would that even work?” she asked, leaning against a wall, ignoring Wirt’s embarrassment. “I mean...I’d love to see you-- and Greg, too, obviously, duh, like-- I have no friends here. I just…”

Wirt took a deep breath. He’d been thinking about this all afternoon, and it was the only thing in the recent months that had actually excited him-- the prospect of actually, physically communicating with someone he considered a close friend. A really pretty, lanky, loud friend. Yes.

“I think...we could write letters to each other,” he said nervously, playing with the hem of his sweater.

“How would we send them? I don’t even know where your home is, or what it’s called.” Beatrice’s face was red, almost masking her freckles.

“What if we tossed it over the garden wall? That’s kinda how Greg and I got to the Unknown the first time. It’s how we got home.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes, “That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.”

Wirt’s face colored and he felt like he’d been punched. It was the most confident he had been since...well, since he was bringing Greg home from the Unknown. “O-Okay. Alright.  Fine.”

There was a beat of silence before Beatrice stepped toward him, “Wirt, I’m sorry, I just...what if none of this real? What if I’m just going crazy?”

“You’re not crazy, Beatrice,” Wirt said softly, letting out a breath. “Or maybe we both are. In that case, maybe it won’t be so bad.”

“You don’t make any sense sometimes.” Her voice was gentle and he thought he heard an echo of fondness. He felt something odd in his chest.

“Hey, Beatrice?”

“What?”

“Do you really miss me?”

 

For the first time in a very long time, Wirt felt...light. The prospect of having physical evidence that he did not look forward to going to sleep every night just to talk to a projection of his subconscious was uplifting, Even his mother had noticed a change in his mood, and Wirt caught her staring at him with a smile on her own face during breakfast. He made some excuse as to why he had leave early that morning, neglecting to mention a pit-stop at the cemetery.

If Beatrice had come through and she’d sent him a letter, then he would have to look for it by the garden wall. Wirt was practically giddy as he made his way to the cemetery, forcing any anxiety away from himself.

His search began at the base of the tree that Greg and he had climbed to reach the top of the wall, but he did not see it. From there he traced a line from end to end of the wall, but still he was left empty-handed. Wirt was beginning to feel the weight of disappointment pressing down on his shoulders, but the glint of white among red and brown leaves caused a spike of hope.

A dirtied envelope was partially covered by the leaves that had fallen and piled up among the ground, and Wirt almost couldn’t bear to inspect it. He didn’t know if he was breathing when he knelt to pick it up.

“Wirt” was messily penned on the back of it.

“Yes! Yes!” Wirt’s shouts could be heard across the street, and he punched the air in excitement.

A brief glance at his watch told him that he’d taken longer than expected and he was going to be late even if he ran. He kept the letter in his hand the whole time, afraid it would disappear if he tucked it away.

He walked into his first period class still holding the letter, along with a late pass from the office. The kids, including Sara, all watched as he walked to his seat, but it didn’t phase him.  Once he was properly situated, he hastily opened the letter and smoothed the page out on his desk.

 

_Dear Wirt,_

_I don’t know if you’ll get this, or if you’ll even know what this means. I’m in the Unknown, and I’m human again. I’ve been having dreams lately and you’re in them. Jeez, this is so stupid, but dream you told me to try throwing a letter over the  garden wall in the woods. So...let me know if you get this?_

_-Beatrice_

_P.S. I really do miss you, you turd-burglar_

 

A laugh bubbled out of Wirt’s mouth, causing the teacher at the front of the room to pause. “Something you’d like to share, Wirt?”

“Uh...no, sorry,” he blushed, realizing that the entire class was once again looking at him.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Wirt, but I expect you to pay attention when in class. Notebook out now, and begin your notes.” She turned to her board and returned to writing words in yellow chalk.

Wirt looked back down at his desk and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and a sharpened pencil. He didn’t know where to start.

 

_Dear Beatrice,_

_I got your letter. I can’t believe it worked. I miss you too, and so does Greg. Things...have not been very good for me here in my world. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I miss the Unknown, you know? Maybe you don’t. I guess I’m bad at conversations even when they’re just over letters._

_Sincerely,_

_Wirt_

 

After a minute and several rereads, Wirt added one last line to his letter.

 

_And though I may not guess the kind , Correctly yet to me_

_A piercing comfort it affords In passing Calvary -E.D_

 

Wirt did not dream of Beatrice that night. Instead, he was looking into a mirror. His reflection did not look well, with pale skin and dark circles under his eyes, but Wirt did not feel so bad anymore. Things were going to change.

“They won’t change,” his reflection hissed, “You will never belong here.”

“W-what…?” Wirt tried to back away, but he was stuck in front of the mirror.

“You won’t make friends with any of them. They all wish you’d died that night.”

“That’s not true!” Wirt shouted, trying to find a way out.

“Even your own mother...and your stepfather, of course. If you were gone, they could enjoy Greg without hindrance,” The reflection’s voice softened, “You’re just their problem.”

Wirt let out a shaky breath, blinking back the heat from his eyes. “No...I’m not.”

“You are,” his reflection sang, “Just give up-- don’t you know that freaks of nature aren’t meant to survive?”

“No!” Wirt bellowed, his fist striking the mirror and shattering it. Instead of pain, serenity washed over him as blood seeped from cuts in his hands.

 

Wirt awoke to pain in his right hand, and a warm stickiness holding his fingers together. He swore softly and padded to the bathroom to find the first-aid kit. His dream, unlike countless others, did not fade and the words he’d thrown at himself echoed in the back of his head. Only the thought that he would receive a new letter from Beatrice helped him to dampen the words.

Someone knocked on the door, making Wirt jump. His hand was bandaged now, but it still hurt. Jonathan, Greg’s father, was outside the door when Wirt opened it. He mentally cursed himself and then offered an awkward smile to the man.

“What happened to your hand?” He exclaimed, reaching toward the bandages.

Wirt instinctively hid the hand behind his back, and then mentally flinched at the connotation. “Oh, uh, nothing, you know. I just-- I accidentally cut it on my, uh, my compass while I was doing homework. Pointy things, those suckers. Ha...ha ha," Wirt desperately looked for a way out.

“Oh...yeah,” Jonathan nodded and looked down before taking a breath. “Hey, Wirt, I know things have been hard for you, buddy. Just...if you need to talk to someone, feel free, okay?”

“Sure, sure,” Wirt brushed past him, “I’ve got to get ready for school.”

Jonathan only watched him walk away, a frown on his face.

 

There was another letter hidden beneath some leaves and Wirt did not waste time getting to school. He had art first period today, and the teacher was an old friend of his mom. He arrived five minutes before the bell and he debated whether or not he should open the letter. In the end he decided to wait until class.

The art room was  filled with tables that had been pushed together so the children sat in groups. Sara, Shelley, and Drew all sat at Wirt’s table and he noticed Sara peeking curiously at the new letter.

“Alright, alright, kids. I’ve got some projects to grade today, so all I want you to do is simply draw, paint, or sketch for the period. I’ll collect it at the end for a participation grade, so get busy.”

Wirt picked up a blue colored pencil and pretended to look busy while he carefully opened the letter.

 

_Wirt,_

_Do you remember the Woodsman? He came by a while after you two had gone home. His daughter was alive the whole time, the Beast had just tricked him. He didn’t recognize me at first. How you feel about this place is how I feel about being a bird. My brother Charles left us when my suitor visited yesterday. He is as angry as I am about the whole thing. My suitor’s name is William, but he looks like a horse, I think. Perhaps he’s Quincy’s real nephew. No matter, I dislike him all the same. He has a hard temper, and you know how I am. Anyways, are you still a pushover? I think so, because of the poetry in your letter. Write soon, everything here is so boring._

_-Beatrice_

Wirt could feel a grin itching his way onto his face. He knew she was teasing him and he knew that she missed him from her little message at the end. Not for the first time he wished that he could see her again.

“Wirt? Hello?” He blinked and dropped the pencil. It clattered onto the table. Sara and Shelley were watching him with concern. “Are you okay?”

“What? I’m fine,” he scratched the back of his head  awkwardly.

“Who’s that?” Sara asked, pointing her pen at his paper. Confused, Wirt looked down at his paper. “I didn’t know you could draw.”

While he’d been reading Beatrice’s letter, he’d been drawing apparently. A picture of Beatrice’s face in light blue colored pencil was drawn on the paper with close detail. Fear prickled on the back of his neck. He could barely draw a pyramid, nevermind a detailed face.

"Time's almost up, guys!"

It had been half-an-hour.

He quickly scribbled a flower on another paper and shoved the picture of Beatrice in his bag. "Oh...I don't know, just some random girl, I guess. Yeah.” He shoved himself away from the table and brought his paper up to the art teacher. “Ms. Daniels? Can I, uh, be excused? I don’t feel well.” It was not a lie.

“Sure, Wirt, I hope you feel better, alright? Tell your mom I’ll call her later,” The teacher scribbled a hall pass on a scrap piece of paper and Wirt hurried out of his classroom. His next class was Geometry, and the teacher was often very critical of Wirt, so he needed to pull himself together.

He’d never blacked out before, which is what he assumed had happened. How had he drawn Beatrice? It felt like something very Uknownish. Maybe it was from his poor health as of late. It didn’t matter anymore, Wirt was getting better now that he could talk to Beatrice.

He’d felt...crazy when they’d come back to their own world. He had saved his brother from a soul-collecting monster. He’d spent his time with a horse and a bird and a frog-- all of which had talked to him. Wirt had come close to drowning, and when he’d tried to hint at it to his mother, she’d told him it was probably a hallucination from lack of Oxygen and not to fill his brther’s head with silly things like that, lest he try to do it again. The belief that he could not trust her had taken root and grown since then.

Wirt had begun to see the darkness in everything-- maybe a side effect of The Beast. Greg didn’t seem affected at all by their change, and Wirt had receded further into the shadows. Greg was the only thing in this world that could confirm their experience and he was a very impressionable seven-year old. It wasn’t a very credible source, and Wirt was beginning to doubt himself.

But Beatrice was real, and physical, and she almost an adult, so her oppinion had to have some weight. Wirt decided that she did, and if she were here, she’d hit him for being such a wimp about his own damn mind.

He ripped another piece of paper out of his notebook and sat in the hallway outside of his next class. Taking a deep breath, he laid his pen to paper.

 

_Beatrice,_

_I do remember the Woodsman. I remember everything about the Unknown, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard a William before. He must be a real piece of work if he made your brother leave. I guess I am still a pushover, but I’m mostly pushing myself these days. I feel like no one here understands me, and nobody wants to be a weirdo-kid-who-almost-died’s friend. Finding your letter was the first good thing that’s happened to me since we left the Unknown. Greg’s completely fine, as always. He’s got tons of little friends that love his stories. We’ve still got that frog, and it’s name is permanently Jason Funderberker. I don’t like the way it looks at me sometimes. Do you think it remembers the Unknown? Who knows. Thank you for writing back, Beatrice._

_Your friend,_

_Wirt_

_P.S. I accidentally drew this picture of you._

 

Her reply came two days later and it was a simple doodle of a frog with the words _“I’ll be your friend, weirdo.”_

Wirt smiled for the whole day for the first time in a very long while.

Halloween was in four days when he last replied, telling her about his house and his school and how he wished Jonathan would stop bugging him after she had told him about how pretentious William was and how cramped her own house was. Wirt returned to the cemetery every day, sometimes with Greg, though he kept Beatrice to himself.

Something told Wirt that if Greg knew he could talk to Beatrice again, then he would steal Beatrice away like the little boy had with everything else. Maybe Greg didn’t do it on purpose, but Wirt could not crush down the jealousy some days.

Each of the days granted Wirt with nothing from Beatrice and he began to obsess over his last letter. Had he said something to upset her? Did the system stop working? He began to lose sleep again since his dreams were void of her too.

It was the day before Halloween when he found a ripped paper with a hurriedly scribbled note on it. It was not tucked into an envelope or even on a clean sheet of paper, but Wirt could see the handwriting that belonged to his friend.

 

_Wirt Help William not what he seemed Please Help He’s Evil_

Wirt thought he felt his heart skip a beat when he read the note. Beatrice was in trouble, and that was bad. She was proud and it took a lot for her to ask for help. She was probably desperate, which was very, very bad.

What was he going to do? It wasn’t like he could call the police.

He wondered where she was, if she was close to the garden wall. She’d sent the letter somehow.

Wirt practically ran home, panic beginning to set in. He was considering telling his mother.

“Mom!” He’d bounded into the house with the note in his hand, practically crashing through the door.

“Wirt? What is it?” His mother was in the kitchen, cleaning the dishes and cooking something on the stove at the same time. She seemed a little worn.

“I...I need your help,” He’d do it for Beatrice.

“Oh? Honey, can you go help Gregory first? He’s upstairs...it’s some project for school or something. I’ll help you afterwards, okay? I’m kind of busy right now,” His mother did not even look up at him. Wirt thought his heart had plunged into his stomach. Of course Greg came first, he always did.

Wirt backed away, taking deep breaths. _“They all wish you were dead. Even your own mother,”_ echoed in his chest. Of course. Of course. Wirt would have to do it himself.

He made his way up the stairs to his room, ignoring Greg’s altogether. Greg couldn’t come even if Wirt wanted him to, not again.

Wirt gathered a compass, an old flashlight, and some snacks he’d hidden from Greg in his room into a tiny bag and took a deep breath. His eyes were drawn to his outfit on the top shelf in his closet. It felt important to take, and Wirt realized that it was a part of him now, just as the Unknown was.

Wirt put on the cloak and the faded, red hat, slinging his pack over his shoulder. He didn’t know if it would work, but he figured it was worth a try. After all, what did he have to lose?

Wirt’s life had been over since his return from the Unknown, he could see that now.

Should he leave a note? Wirt pondered it for a moment before deciding not to. If anything suspicious was left behind, Greg could piece together what had happened, and he would try to follow.

 The Unknown wasn’t a place for a vivacious little boy. It was a place of darkness, and as Wirt walked away from his house and towards the garden wall, he realized that he’d taken a piece of that home with him.

Wirt was going to give it back.

 

 

 


	2. In the Pines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tell me where did you sleep last night?

It was not the climb up that held Wirt back, but the jump down. The other side of the wall was mossy and slippery, meaning that he would fall anyway if he tried to climb down it. He’d made this jump a year ago, but it had not seemed so daunting then.

Wirt steeled himself on the top of the stone wall, clutching his pack. He took a deep breath and whispered softly to himself, “The woods are lovely, dark and deep,  but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.”

Then he jumped.

He squeezed his eyes shut and screwed his lips together so that he would not scream. The ground was hard and cold, sending a jolt through Wirt’s knees when he landed. Breathing heavily, he opened his eyes and flexed his fingers. Wirt stood shakily and felt his breath leave him when he saw the many trees that surrounded him.

He was back.

Wirt had made it to the Unknown and now, he had no idea what his next move would be. Beatrice’s family lived in the Old Mill, but Wirt had no real idea where he was. He began to walk, pulling his cloak tighter around himself.

Greg and he had wandered these woods before, so it probably wouldn’t be hard to find at least one of the places they’d stumbled on when they had been lost. The trees were thin and tall, and despite it being late October, they were plump with leaves that skewed the sunlight from view. Wirt doubted it was sunny out anyway, and he kept his flashlight near to his waist in case it became completely dark.

Fear was crawling up Wirt’s back, memories of the Beast and Adelaide worming their way to the front of his mind. Quietly, he recited poetry to himself, but that did little to soothe him. Instead, he thought of Beatrice’s letters and their shared dreams, and suddenly the cold of the Unknown had seeped away.

She’d told him about her brothers and her sisters and her mother and her father and even her dog. Her family was...whole, whereas Wirt’s was...different.

His mother and father had been together when he was young, but they’d gotten a divorce when he was six. His father had visited with Wirt for almost a year after that, but then he just stopped coming one day. Wirt’s mother had gotten a call about something called “Termination of parental rights” and then she had sat Wirt down like a big boy to have a talk with him.

She’d met Jonathan a year after that, and then they got married after two more years of being together. That was when little Gregory came along.

Wirt wasn’t going to lie; he’d been jealous of Greg and a lot of the time he still was. The pudgy little boy had a mother and a father and even a half-brother, after all, whereas Wirt felt like he barely even had his mom anymore. It hurt to watch Greg grow up and have a family that was always there for him, when Wirt was so alone. Sometimes he felt like he’d been the free trial run, cast aside once the real thing come along.

School was never any different, either. Wirt was the boy with no daddy, unlike Christina who had two and most of the other kids who still had both. Of course, things had changed as the children got older and parents grew apart, but back in third grade, Wirt was the only fatherless little boy.

Sara was the first friend he’d ever really made. She was nice to him and she made an effort to play with him at recess. He hadn’t been surprised by his crush on her-- she was so delightable. Sara attracted all kinds of people and brought them all together, but even still, Wirt had felt like he was on the outside of a glass box that they were all living in.

Beatrice was the second true friend that he’d made, though it was under what could be considered abnormal circumstances. They had worked together to keep an evil force at bay, and they’d shared their secrets with one another. You couldn’t go through those things without forming a bond. And she had made fun of him, it was true, but she’d also encouraged him. He needed to find her before she got hurt or did something stupid, like started throwing rocks.

 

Wirt had no idea how long he’d been walking for, but any light that had been shining before had since faded into darkness. His flashlight cast a dim yellow glow about the forest, but it was better than nothing. He still had no idea how close he was to finding Beatrice.

“Who goes there?” A booming voice rung out behind him, causing the boy to jump and let out a little shriek.

A man had followed him, casting his own shadows with his own lantern. Wirt’s heart almost stopped. _The Beast._

“What is your name, boy?” The man came closer, his face illuminated by their lights. His brow was set and his eyes were firm, but they softened when they saw Wirt. “Do my eyes deceive me?”

It was the Woodsman. Wirt silently cursed himself for his fear, and he lowered the flashlight. “Woodsman?”

“T’is me, boy. What are you doing here?” The Woodsman peered at the trees around them.

“I...I’m lost,” Wirt admitted, kicking at the dirt. He felt like a little boy being caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Naturally. It is the way of these woods, what I meant was what are you doing in this place? The girl told me that you and the little one returned home,” The man now looked into Wirt’s eyes, and Wirt felt the urge to blink and look away.

“I-I did, but I’m here to...the girl-- Beatrice-- she’s in trouble, I need t-to find her,” Wirt was unnerved by the Woodsman’s staring, but he had to be brave for Beatrice. “She needs my help.”

“The girl’s in trouble? You’d better come back with me then. You’ll be no use to her lost in the dark,” The Woodsman turned and began to stride through the forest. It was clear that he knew the woods like the back of his hand, and Wirt hurried after him. A fatigue had settled into his bones and he felt more tired now than he had all year. “Verity and I dwell at the edge of the forest, but I still wander these woods when I have the time. Children still roam here, lost as you and your brother once were.”

“Verity?” Wirt asked, hopping over dead logs and around thorny bushes.

“My daughter,” The Woodsman smiled for the first time Wirt had ever known him to.

“Oh,” Wirt mumbled, unsure of what to say. The rest of the way to the Woodsman’s home was silent until they emerged from the forest into a clearing with a small two-story house.

The Woodsman led him inside and called out for his daughter. She came lightly down the steps, her dark hair curtaining her face and the white of her nightgown washing out the color of her skin. She blushed when she saw Wirt. “Who is this, father?”

“This is the boy who brought me back to you. He says your friend Beatrice is in a bad way, so I’ve brought him here to rest while he can,” The Woodsman removed his coat and hat, hanging them on a stand in the corner of the living room, where a roaring fire was crackling.

“Uh, Wirt,” Wirt offered a small little wave, a blush beginning to creep up his own face.

“You’d better rest, boy. You’ll have a long day ahead of you.”

As Wirt followed Verity to a spare room in the rickety old house, he realized there was nothing he wanted more than to rest.

 

Wirt was standing in the kitchen of his house, watching his mother cry into their telephone.

“I don’t know where he is,” Pamela, Wirt’s mother cried into the phone, “Please, he’s just disappeared. Yes, it's been over twenty-four hours.”

Someone over the phone replied, but his mother did not. With a shaking finger she hung up the phone, sliding onto the floor and hanging her head in her hands. Wirt opened his mouth, but he didn’t have anything to say and something told him that even if he wanted to, she would not hear him.

Greg came bounding in just then, a little cardboard cut-out in his hand. “Mom! Did Wirt come home yet?”

Pamela looked up, rubbing her cheeks with the back of her hand, “Oh, Gregory, my little love, come here.” She held her hands out, and the little boy sat in his mother’s lap, “You know that I love you, right? And so does Daddy?”

She was clutching her son tightly, and he laid his head on her shoulder, “I know that, Mom. Where’s Wirt?”

“Wirt’s...he’s still not home. I...do you know where he could have went, Greg? It’s really important, okay?” Pamela was watching her son closely, forcing herself to swallow the lump in her throat.

Greg scrunched his face together, and Wirt prayed that he would not tell his mother about the Unknown. The chances that she would believe him were slim, but Greg would believe it and that would be bad.

“Wirt’s doing his Wirt-thing, I bet,” Greg said finally, jumping out of his mother’s arms.”Where’s Dad?”

Their mother sighed, clenching her jaw to keep it together, “He’s out asking if any of Wirt’s friends know where he is. He thought maybe Wirt slept at Sara’s last night when we couldn’t find him.”

“Okay! When he comes home, tell him I’ve got the best project ever!” Greg seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts and he brought his little cardboard craft back to his room.

Wirt felt like he should be doing something, like this mute numbness was wrong, but he was at a loss. A deep ribbit sounded from behind him and he turned around, finding that Jason Funderberker was staring right at him.

For some reason, iWirt felt compelled to bring a finger to his lips, but he knew the stupid frog would never understand.

 

Wirt woke up at dawn, a pink sky ebbing into the darkness of night. He wasn’t sure where he was at first, but then he heard the whistle of the Woodsman downstairs. Wirt gathered up all his things and crept down the stairs. Verity was nowhere in sight, but the Woodsman was sitting at his worn, kitchen table.

“Good morning,” Wirt murmured, standing in the doorway. He felt a sense of deja vu, but he couldn’t place it. He figured he’d dreamt something similar, but he couldn’t remember that, either, so he shook the feeling off.

“Verity went out to gather some berries from out back. When she returns, she will take you to where you need to go. I have some business to attend to, but I wish you well on your journey,” The Woodsman stood, grabbing his axe from it’s place in the corner and striding past Wirt.

“Oh...okay,” Wirt sat on the chair the Woodsman had vacated awkwardly, sitting in the silence of the old house.

Where did he want to go? Beatrice had mentioned something about Quincy Endicott, so he could check there, or he could go to Adelaide’s hut to see if she’d been taken there. Wirt didn’t actually know that Beatrice had been taken, so maybe it was best to start at her house.

“Are you alright?”

Wirt jumped, startled out of his thoughts. Verity was in front of him, a basket of blueberries in her hand. Her hair was brushed and pulled to the side, and she was wearing a dress that looked like it had seen better days. “Oh. Oh, uh, yeah, I’m fine.”

“Father told me I’m to show you the way to somewhere?” She moved away, placing the blueberries on the table.

“Um...yeah, I need to know how to get to the Old Grist Mill,” Wirt looked down at his hands.

“Beatrice’s house? Let me get my cloak and we’ll go. It’s not that far from here,” Verity left the kitchen to retrieve the cloak and returned quickly, tying her hair into a bun.

Wirt was reminded of Beatrice and his chest began to ache. He followed Verity out of the house with a blush on his cheeks.

 

A chill traveled down Wirt’s neck when he saw Beatrice’s house. Granted, it looked more alive than when he’d been there, but he could still see the darkness from his past. Verity nudged him forward and he stepped onto the porch. All he could hear was silence, not even the chirp of a bird.

The door was almost opened, so he just pushed it until it swung backward. “Beatrice?”

There was blood everywhere. It was smeared on the wall, on the floor, and on some of the furniture. Wirt felt sick, but he had to press on. Verity was retching behind him through oncoming tears.

“Beatrice!” He called, cautiously climbing the stairs.  There was a trail of dried blood leading up to one of the rooms. The trail went under a closed door and Wirt paused before opening it.

He had to know.

The burn of tears was kindling behind his eyes already. Had he taken too long?

Wirt pushed open the door and immediately shot backwards, a horrible smell punching him straight in the face. He forced himself to look, to be brave.

It was not Beatrice. It was a man with greying hair and a once round tummy. His head was slumped to the side and a hatchet was buried in his stomach.

Wirt threw up.

Then, after heaving multiple times, he pinched his nose and entered the room.Wirt guessed it had belonged to Beatrice, mostly because he spotted his letters in a corner under some books. She’d kept them. He was either going to start crying or throwing up.

Wirt practically ran downstairs, almost knocking into Verity. Her eyes were rimmed with red and she was holding a piece of paper in her hand. “Verity…” he murmured, and she turned to face him.

It was the picture he’d drawn of Beatrice that day in class. A giant gold X was now drawn over Beatrice’s face.

“Verity, what do you know about William?” Wirt asked urgently, wiping his face.

She looked at him with big, sad eyes, and he thought she wasn’t going to answer, but her mouth finally opened after a moment or two, “His name is William Chiffre. He...He was supposed to marry Beatrice-- she was so lucky. He was charming and attractive, even though he could get a little angry sometimes. I….I never…”

“Is there _anything_ else, Verity?” he pled, looking around for any sort of clue.

“William...he could do magic,” she whispered, hanging her head. “He showed me...I should hav-have told.” The girl began to cry again and Wirt’s eyes widened.

“What kind of magic?” He almost shook her.

“He...he could...he _did_ things, Wirt. He showed me what I wanted most, and he told me not to tell anybody-- that everything could be ruined. William said that he was special, that he knew what other people needed, that he could make things better for everyone. I…”

“Is there anything else you know about him?” Wirt felt fear churning in his stomach, but he’d figured out the Beast, and he could figure out this William guy.

Verity’s lip wobbled, “Just that his brother died. He said that his brother was living with a-a girl named, um, L-Lola maybe, I can’t remember her name. William’s brother was killed by her Aunt or something, I think. I don’t know, Wirt, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Wirt straightened, a metaphorical light bulb hovering above his head. “You need to go home, okay? I know where I need to go.” He needed to find Beatrice as soon as possible.

“B-but wait,” she sniffled, “you don’t know where to go!”

Wirt shook his head, “That’s the point.”

 

Wirt was not totally sure that his plan would work, but he figured it was worth a shot. He was searching for a river with little black turtles, and he thought it would be better if her got a little lost first. The old woman seemed more open to “wanderers”. He had several hours of daylight, and he figured that it would be enough time to find the people he needed to see.

It took three hours, at least, to find black turtles and just as he suspected, there was a trail of them leading away from the water. He followed them to an empty clearing of woods he thought looked fairly familiar. There was no house anymore, though, just a collection of wildflowers. Wirt’s shoulders slumped.

He was no closer to finding Beatrice-- if anything, he was farther away.

Wirt’s stomach gurgled and he sighed, walking to a nearby tree and sinking down. He wanted to cry--to just give up. Who was he kidding? He was never a hero, just a stupid kid who made everything worse.

Beatrice didn’t deserve to have someone like him as a friend, she needed someone like Greg, someone who people actually liked.

Wirt hit the ground with his fist, letting out his breath in a sigh. Tears rolled down his cheeks, but he did nothing to stop them. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

 

“Hello, Walter.” It was too bright for Wirt to see who was talking to him, but her voice was melodic.

“Who are you?” He brought up a hand to shield his eyes from her light. It did not dim at all.

“I’m the Queen of the Clouds, Walter. I know you,” the woman answered, and Wirt thought he caught a flash of pale blue.

“Why am I here?” Wirt asked, attempting to figure out where “here” was. He felt light and buoyant, all of his worries forgotten.

“I can help you, and I wish to,” The Queen told him, her voice vibrating through him. He had the feeling she was nowhere and everywhere at once.

Wirt straightened, squinting into the bright light, “H-how?”

“You are enough,Walter. You are strong enough and smart enough to conquer William, and you must. He wishes for chaos, to find a way in to your world and strike it.”

“I can’t stop him! I don’t even know where he is or what he is!” Wirt cried, clenching his fist. Didn’t she know? He was just a dumb kid.

“He is a demon, Walter. You need to force him out of his body; that is the only way to hinder him. Without a body, he will not be complete in your world, and he will inflict no real damage. He must have a vessel.”

“But...what does Beatrice have to do with all this?” Wirt’s shoulders were shaking, as if the light was pushing him back, but he was resisting. This Queen, or whatever she was, had answers that he needed.

“She knows the way to your world, and that is something William cannot find. The Unknown is endless, for there is no one that knows exactly everything. William is too impatient to search under every rock and around every tree. Your friend can tell him what he needs.”

“But…” Wirt thought of Verity, “...he can see inside people’s heads! Can’t he just look in Beatrice’s?”

“William can only see the fears that drive people and the wishes those people thirst for. Time is ticking, Walter, you must go. Your friend cannot hold herself much longer, she is becoming weak.”

The light was pushing harder. “Wait!”

“Remember how strong you are, Walter. Whatever you do, do not make a deal with him. He cannot be trusted at all!” She called, and gave one final push.

 

“Wirt?”

Wirt gasped, shooting up and almost knocking heads with Lorna. Her hair was tucked neatly under her bonnet and her face was healthier than when he’d first met her. “Lorna!”

“Wirt, what are you doing here? Where’s Greg?” The girl was crouching in front of Wirt, looking around anxiously.

“He’s home, I came back to...my friend is in big trouble,” Wirt tried to stand, swaying with dizziness a little bit. “How did you even find me? I tried to find your house, but...”

Lorna regarded Wirt with concern, extending an arm to help him up, “Auntie Whispers used her magic to hide our house from outsiders. She says something evil is here, something dangerous.”

A strike of fear bolted in Wirt. “You mean The Beast?”

“No, no...come on, come inside and sit down.” Lorna led him back to the clearing where the old cottage had materialized. Wirt’s stomach gurgled again. “I’ll get you a biscuit, okay?”

“It’s alright, I’ve got some food, I just…” Wirt trailed off when they entered the house, looking around. It was warmer than he remembered, with decorations and a bookcase filled with all kinds of books. He was glad that Lorna’s life had improved.

“Darling, is that you?” Auntie Whispers called from the upper floor, the stairs creaking as she hobbled down them.

“Yes, Auntie Whispers. Wirt is here, he has some questions.” Lorna reached into a basket to retrieve something and returned with a small black turtle.

“The boy who saved you?”

“Y-yeah,” Wirt mumbled, “Aunt...Auntie Whispers, what do you know about William Chiffre?”

Auntie Whispers had made it down the stairs and had taken the turtle from Lorna. She was about to slurp the turtle when she heard the name, her large eyes narrowing, “What of him? He is evil and he only seeks to destroy. Why do you ask?”

“Yeah, uh, well, I’m trying to-- to find my friend before he destroys her, so…” Wirt scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, unnerved by the intensity of her eyes.

“Fix your hair, boy.” She took another turtle from the basket and then she came close to him. “William is not easily beaten, have you a plan?”

Wirt thought of the Queen of the Clouds and nodded, trying to subtly flatten his hair, “I’m going to kick him out of his body.”

Auntie Whispers nodded and Lorna stepped forward, “How are you going to do that?”

Wirt blushed, looking at the floor, “I...I don’t really know. Can you help me? Please?”

Auntie Whispers regarded him for a moment before swiftly turning and heading back upstairs. Crestfallen, Wirt turned to Lorna for help. Lorna was watching the stairs carefully.

Wirt stood there awkwardly for five minutes, unsure of what to do. Then the stairs began to creak again and Auntie Whispers had returned with a book in hand. “I’ve written the incantation for you. You must be touching him for it to work. You’ll find him at my sister’s old home. The magic there drew him to it. That is as much as I can do for you, wanderer.”

Wirt smiled for the first time since he’d lost Beatrice. “Thank you, Auntie Whispers.”

He thought she was smiling too, but he couldn’t be sure. Wirt took off his pack and got out a snack and replaced it with the book. He unwrapped the bar and took a bite, swallowing it whole. He’d never felt so...filled with a sense of direction.

Lorna approached him, her hands folded in front of her and she kissed him on the cheek. “Good luck, Wirt.”

“Thanks, Lorna,” Wirt’s face was burning.

 

Somehow Wirt knew deep down that he would once again have to conquer Adelaide’s home. He’d come to know that coincidence seemed to be the likeliest thing that was going to happen to him. Lorna had pointed him in the right direction, and he’s taken out his compass to make sure he didn’t stray too far. After walking until it was getting dark again and the sleepiness was setting in, Wirt found a hollowed out tree to sleep in. He adjusted his pack so it was a pillow and his cloak so that it acted like a blanket. It was one of the easiest sleeps he’d ever fallen into, and his last memory was of a bird chirping in her nest above.

 

“Wirt?” A small voice that was laced with fear asked, “Are you here?”

“Beatrice!” he called back, trying to find her in the darkness around him. “Beatrice, I’m here!”

“Wirt!” she exclaimed, and suddenly he was hit by something. There was a soft glow around the two of them, and the rest remained darkness.

Beatrice had wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs were hitched upon his. “Oh God, Wirt, this is so bad.”

“I know,” he pressed his face into her shoulder, “I’m coming. I can stop him.”

Beatrice worked her way back down to the ground, “He’ll kill you, Wirt.” Her face was cut and bruised and dirty. Her eyes shone, “He killed my dad, Wirt. Please don’t make me lose you too. Not when we finally get to see each other again.”

Wirt stared at her dark eyes, studying them like he had so many times before. He smiled softly and shook his head, “It doesn’t matter what happens to me, Beatrice.”

Beatrice looked at him sharply, “Of course it does!”

Wirt looked up at her. She was only slightly taller than him and he could imagine her teasing him about it in different circumstances. “Do you miss me, Beatrice?”

She softened, her hair illuminated by the soft glow emanating from them. Wirt looked down and realized it was coming from their chests.

“Hang in there, I’ll be there soon.” Wirt kissed her cheek, his own blazing hot.

 

Wirt blinked and he was no longer in the darkness. He was in his brother’s room. Pamela was sitting with Greg on the bed, her face drawn and her cheeks wet. “G-Greg,” her voice sounded odd, “I need to have a big-boy talk with you.”

Wirt’s eyes snapped to Gregory’s face. He thought he could see himself  on the bed for a minute, waiting to hear why Daddy never made it back to see him. “I want to talk to Wirt.”

“I know, Greggy. I do-- I do too,” his mother’s voice broke. Her face crumpled and Wirt’s chest hurt. He didn’t want to watch his mother cry. “But...we can’t. Wirt...Wirt’s not coming home. The...the policemen say that...Wirt’s gone.” A sob clawed its way out of her throat and she clutched Greg tight. The young boy fought against her.

“No!” he screeched, “No! I want to talk to Wirt!”

Their mother could not quiet her sobs.

“Let me go! This is a trick! Wirt’s just gonna be right ou-side!” Greg was crying too, his face red and puffy.

“I’m sorry, Greg, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Their mother’s voice changed pitch oddly as she tried to talk around her tears, but Wirt could make out what she was saying.

“No!” Greg shouted, collapsing against his mother. She held him close and they cried together. Wirt jumped when he heard a creak and he saw that his step-father was standing in the doorway. He was crying too. “No….I _need_ him!”

Wirt frowned.

A croak sounded from the corner of Greg's room and Wirt looked straight at Jason Funderberker. They locked eyes and Wirt walked over to him quietly. “I’ll be home soon,” he mouthed.

The frog blinked and leaped towards Greg and Pamela without a word, and let the small boy clutch him tight as he cried for his lost brother.

Wirt smiled.

 

The sky was a light grey when Wirt awoke and for a moment, he imagined that vines had twisted around him in the night, turning him…

Wirt snapped out of it and practically sprang out of the tree trunk. There were drying tears on his face. He gathered his things and checked his compass, beginning his trek. It wouldn’t be long now.

The feel and the sound and the touch of Beatrice kept him going and gave him strength. It was not enough to quell his nerves, and he began to recite poetry out of habit. It wasn’t working all that well, either, so he continued in silence.

He didn’t know how long it was before he realized he was humming a soft tune. He wracked his brain for the lyrics, and when he found them, they almost made him stop. Wirt continued on though, softly singing the song he had sang all those months ago the last time he was here.

“To Adelaide, to adelaide, come on and join the adelaide parade...Adelaide, oh Adelaide, I’m going to go to Adelaide’s house today….” Wirt let the song trail off, ignoring the lump in his throat. He’d come this far. He’d done it without his brother, and he’d done it for Beatrice. Since his return to Unknown, he’d felt more...alive. Everything was so beautifully simple here: the darkness is bad, the light is good, and there is only good and evil. There was no convoluted string of steps to follow that only led him deeper down the rabbit hole, there was only the song in his soul to guide him. He realized now just how stupid he was being-- Greg needed him, just like Wirt had always needed his father. You don’t get a free pass to just check out on people.

Wirt felt like everything had clicked into place for him. _“Remember that you are strong enough,”_ The Queen had told him. He’d punched the mirror. He’d gone over the garden wall. He’d found a dead body. He’d visited people he thought had long since been gone to him. He could see Adelaide’s cottage in the distance.

He couldn’t give up now. 


	3. I Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I found love where it wasn't supposed to be, right in front of me.

Wirt had begun to slowly approach the hut when he’d been sidelined into the wet leaves scattered across the ground. His first thought was a bear, but no, it was human arms that were wrapped around him. A man had come from behind him, tackling Wirt so hard that the air was knocked out of him.

“Who are you? You work for him?” The man shouted at him, holding Wirt to the ground so that he couldn’t escape.

“What?” Wirt breathed, trying to swallow air back into his lungs. “What?”

The man pushed down on Wirt’s shoulder, pressing him further into the dirt. “You should have been quieter to get past me, you cretin.”

“Who...who even are you?” Wirt struggled to lift himself, but the man was unrelenting.

“My name is Charles,” he hissed, “and I’m going to use you to get to William, your boss or whatever it is you are to him.”

“Wait...Charles…” Wirt had heard the name somewhere before, but Charles had pulled Wirt roughly up and was clutching his arm and he had no time to think about it. The trees around them looked like they were tilting…

“If William won’t take you, I’ll kill you, so you better hope you’re worth it to him,” the man shoved Wirt toward the hut, and he struggled against Charles.

“Stop!” Wirt cried, trying to back away from the hut. Everything would be ruined if he just barged right in, and this man was going to do just that. “I don’t know who you think I am, o-okay? Please, he’s going to kill my friend!”

Charles paused, looking at Wirt with scrutinous eyes, “That’s what any desperate person would say.”

“I’m desperate to help her,” Wirt said quickly, glancing back at the hut, “She knows I’m coming, please, I have to get her. You can do whatever you want with William or whatever.”

Charles was looking at Wirt oddly, and he spoke through his teeth, “If your ‘friend’ was taken by William, how did you know to come here and how do they know you’re coming?”

“I...I had some help from--” Wirt hesitated, “--the, uh, The Queen of the Clouds. And we...we’ve got a, uh, a dream...connection?”

“What is your friends name then?”

“Beatrice,” Her name tumbled from Wirt’s lips in a hurry.

Charles let go of Wirt, stumbling back a few steps. “How do you know my sister?”

 

The two of them had retreated further back into the trees, and Wirt found his face in constant heat. He’d met Beatrice’s family when they were bluebirds, but he’d never shared any intimate exchanges with her then. He felt sort of guilty and embarrassed, and also a little afraid that Charles would hurt him.

“I’ve been here for three days now. I followed him back to here when he took my family. He’s going to pay for what he did,” Charles clenched his fist for a moment, lost in a memory, before looking to Wirt. “He hasn’t left, not that I’ve seen, not since I’ve watched him walk in. I didn’t know how to stop him, or what he would do if I just went in there. I figured I needed leverage, and when I saw you going towards there, I thought you might be a correspondent of his.” Charles looked at least a little sheepish about that, at least.

“No, no,” Wirt tried to ignore the anxious clench of his stomach when he talked to the man. Charles was large and muscled, so very unlike to Wirt. It was intimidating to say the least. “I...I know how to stop William, but I...I don’t know _how.”_

“What do you mean?” Charles looked eagerly at Wirt.

“William is-- he’s a demon,” Wirt had trouble saying it out loud, but Charles did not bat an eyelash, “I have this...like, a saying that can, uh, separate him from his body?” Wirt ended as if it were a question, reaching into his bag for the book. The words--

_“Fidentus omnium. Magister mentium. Magnesium ad hominem.Magnum opus. Habeas corpus. Inceptus Nolanus overratus.”_

\--were scrawled messily on the page. “We have to be touching him, or else it won’t work. But I don’t even know how--” Wirt was beginning to babble, looking up to the sky.

“But what does my family have to do with this? Why them?”

“Beatrice...knows something he doesn’t, y’know, fromex-exploring and all that,” Wirt averted Charles’ face. Charles did not notice-- he seemed to be thinking hard about something. Finally, he grinned.

“Kid, you’re pretty small, right?” Charles was regarding Wirt with a gleam in his eyes. Wirt realized with a tiny amount of fear that he had seen that look in Beatrice’s eyes before.

 

“William!” Charles boomed, kicking down the door of the tiny hut with his foot. The name echoed back at him, throughout the hut that definitely looked larger on the inside than the outside. It looked more like a mansion that a small wooden cabin. “Come out, you bastard!”

“Tsk, tsk…” A tall, thin man with white-blonde hair emerged from the shadows, a sinister grin stretched across his face. “Watch your mouth, Charles.”

“You’re going to pay for what you did, you piece of shit!” Charles barked, clenching his fists. He was holding a jagged stick, whittled to look like a spear.

“Oh, my dear friend, you are _sorely_ mistaken.”

 

Wirt crept around the hut, wincing when he heard the wooden door splinter. He was looking for an open window, or even one that could be quietly opened. Around the side of the hut was a window that hadn’t been blocked out like the others, but was covered in dust and small flecks of debris it had picked up over the years. Wirt very carefully pushed on it, trying to see if it would budge or if it could be wiped a little clean so that he could see through it.

The window slowly turned inward with a creak, freezing Wirt and causing him to silently pray that no one had heard. After waiting for a few minutes, Wirt pushed his backpack through and then scrambled after it, trying to be as stealthy and quiet as possible.

When he’d closed the window with another agonizing creak, although this one wasn’t so loud, Wirt finally turned around to face the room.

It was nothing like he remembered. Instead of a decaying, straw hut, there was a stone room that looked like a study, filled with some books and some jars of things Wirt didn’t want to look at. He could hear Charles shouting from far away and another piercing voice calling back at him.

Good. The longer the distraction, the better chance he could find Beatrice and any of her family that was left.

“Beatrice?” Wirt whispered, creeping into the hallway. It looked like a huge castle, and Wirt was too busy panicking that he’d never find Beatrice with all these rooms to admire it. Charles and William were off to his right, so he began to wander left, crawling on his hands and knees. Wirt had no idea if William had any accomplices or if there were other prisoners here, but he had no other choice to periodically whisper Beatrice’s name at every door he came to.

Crashing and banging was coming from the direction of the two enemies and Wirt paused when he heard Charles snarl, “Where’s my sister?”

“Oh, she’s a little _tied_ up right now,” The other person, William, replied with ease, and his voice sent a shiver down Wirt’s spine.

But still, the odd way he’d emphasized his words made Wirt think back to the way this place had been before William had taken over. He had an idea. This castle had to still have some remnant of Adelaide’s old cottage, and Adelaide had loved her threaded traps. Wirt surveyed the walls around him, looking for some sign of old wood in the walls or floors or thread laying about. After a particularly loud crash and crack that sounded like a gunshot, Wirt saw a place on the other side of the castle, closer to where William and Charles were, where the sleek floors faded into dusty, old tan planks. They led under a door that looked like it was heavily abused, adorned with scratches and chips.

Wirt’s heart jumped and he started towards it, his heart pounding in his ears. It almost drowned out the sound of the fighting, and Wirt had forgotten about it by the time he’d reached the door. He swallowed, looking up at it.

Beatrice could be on the other side of the door.

He would see her again.

All of the embarrassing things he’d told her and the little intimacies they’d shared washed over him in that moment and he wanted to go hide under a rock. Wirt’s face felt like it was radiating off enough heat to warm this whole castle during the winter.

 _“Time is ticking, you must go. Your friend cannot hold herself much longer,”_ The Queen of the Clouds had said.

Beatrice needed Wirt.

In a little pocket tucked away in the center of his chest, he knew that he needed her, too.

Wirt reached up and twisted the knob, and for the first time in his life, there was no resistance. The door clicked as it turned and Wirt let out a breath he felt he’d been holding since he’d gone face to face with The Beast.

“Beatrice?”

Silence echoed back at Wirt. The room was dim, and had definitely once been Adelaide’s home. Strings of thick thread were strung up so tightly that Wirt could barely see into the room. He could make out an old, rumpled bed and something that looked like a desk if he squinted. All at once a ball of grief worked it’s way up Wirt’s throat and burst out of his mouth as a choked sob.

He had failed her.

“I--I’m sorry, Bea--” Wirt could not even say her name. He leaned against the wall of string and pushed his fingernails into his palms as he squeezed his fist closed. “I--”

The wall began to sway down towards the bottom and Wirt heard a panicked voice call, “Wirt? Wirt, is that you?”

He knew that voice. His fingers felt numb as he desperately tried to separate the threads so he could see. “Bea--Beatrice, oh God, please-- tell me you’re alive.”

Pale fingers were scrambling through the thread, trying as hard to separate it as he was. “Wirt, you came--”

Their fingers brushed against one another for a moment, sending a shock into Wirt’s chest.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

The fight had ended, leaving a sudden silence Wirt had been too distracted to notice.

 

“So, Little Charles got the help of some little boy? How courageous,” William purred, his long fingers curled around Wirt’s cloak. “What’s your name?”

Wirt was terrified, but he let the Queen of the Clouds’ words muster up his courage. “Wirt.”

William’s demeanor changed instantly. His face became sharper and everything about him seemed to take on an edge. “You’re the one dear little Beatrice was writing to.” It wasn’t a question.

“I....”

“I couldn’t pick Beatrice apart, but I’ll have fun tearing you to _pieces,”_ William’s grin was sinister, and Wirt could not resist closing his eyes.

“Wirt!” Beatrice was screaming his name.

 

“Wha...what?” Wirt slurred, sitting up. He felt numb, like there was something that he was….going to do? But he couldn’t or maybe he didn’t? He couldn’t remember anything besides walking home from school and resting until he had to go fetch Greg. He must have fallen asleep.

Wirt glanced at the clock and shot out of the bed, stumbling to his door and pulling on his shoes. He was ten minutes late already and Greg could’ve already gotten off the bus. There was no telling what the little boy would do when left to himself. After all, last time he’d been lured by….No. Wirt could not think about that.

Wirt tried to run for as long as he could, but in the end he had to power walk and was twenty-minutes late total. “Greg? Greg, are you here?”

There was no one in sight; all the other children and caretakers having dispersed for the day. Wirt tried to ignore the fear curdling in his gut. “Come on, Greg, let’s go! This isn’t funny!”

Wirt crossed the street, looking for a place small enough for the boy to hide in. There were some skid marks on the street from someone peeling out, but Wirt could find nothing else.

Until he found the rock, laying in a puddle by those marks. It looked similar to Greg’s old rock that he used for “rock facts”, only this one was messily covered in fresh glitter.Wirt’s stomach dropped.

“Wirt, where’s Greg?” Wirt spun around, afraid and startled. His mother was standing on the corner, her face pale and her fingers curled tightly around her purse.

"I-- he--" Wirt backed away from her, holding his hands up. “Mom, I--”

“God, Wirt, I gave you one thing to do,” His mother stepped towards him, her face clouding over. Wirt tripped on a crack in the sidewalk and fell backwards. His elbows stung and he was going to cry. He hadn’t meant for Greg to-- “Can’t you do a goddamn thing?”His mother laughed hysterically, “Of course not! And now my son is missing. I wish it was _you_ , Wirt. I hope you know that.”

“It’s not my fault!” He cried, feeling like a little boy, “I-- I can find him, Mom, I’m sorry!”

“Well, where could he have gone then?” Pamela bent towards Wirt, her face in his. Wirt had no exact idea, but he could have gone…

“He-- He could be…”

Something flickered in the corner Wirt’s eye and he turned his head towards it, panicking. His heart jumped into his throat. The Beast was there, in the shadow of a tree, his fingers interlocked and sinister smile on his face.

There had to be no other explanation. Greg had to have gone back.

“He’s--” The Beast began to laugh at Wirt, his mouth opening wide. Wirt stopped, tilting his head.

The Beast did not sound like that.

The Beast did not belong here.

Wirt scrambled to his feet, shouting, “This isn’t real! You-- You can’t trick me, William!”

 

Wirt blinked and he was back in the dim hallway, William standing over him with distaste. Wirt reached back into his bag, clumsily retrieving the book. Wirt lunged for William’s ankle. “What’s this? You think some paper is going to help you?”

William dodged Wirt easily, standing with his back to the door concealing Beatrice. Wirt watched him warily, losing faith that he could do this.

A roar came from behind him, and Wirt turned to see Charles limping with ferocity. He leapt past Wirt and attempted to stab William with his stick, but William was able to sidestep him. The spear tore through the thread in the doorway instead, freeing Beatrice.

“Wirt!” She called, hurrying through the threads. When she saw her brother breathing heavily and leaning to the left. It looked like his leg had been broken, and he had a deep gash on his forearm. “Charlie!”

“Ooh, nicknames, I like that,” William sneered, regarding the scene with boredom. “Beatrice, honey, I think I’ll call you _Red._ As for your brother,” William bared his teeth again, stepping towards Charles, “I think I’ll call him _dead.”_

Wirt watched from the ground as William pounced on Charles, knocking Beatrice backwards. Charles was ready for it, and the butt-end of his stick struck William in the face, knocking him to the side with a shout.  

Charles lunged onto him, both of them tumbling a few feet away as they fought. Wirt stood, his back aching. “Beatrice!” He stumbled towards Adelaide’s room.

Beatrice had fallen on her butt, tangled in the remaining thread. Her arm was caught between three of four pieces and she was struggling to remove it. Wirt stooped to help her, blushing despite the situation. She was here, in the flesh.

Beatrice looked a little different than she had in the dreams, her hair more vibrant and her skin more flush. Her face had some cuts and bruises on it, but he could still see her elegant features underneath.

He couldn’t fathom how William could hurt her.

They stood together in awkward silence when she was finally untangled, neither one quite looking at the other.

Wirt mustered his courage, “I missed you.”

Beatrice smiled, causing Wirt’s heart to squeeze out an irregular beat and his face to flame. “I missed you to, dummy.”

They were interrupted by the sound of her brother choking as the spear was thrust through his stomach. William gave out a triumphant laugh, strands of his pale hair falling into his eyes.

“Charles!” Beatrice screamed, stumbling toward him.

Wirt was frozen in place, the book hanging from his hand.

Charles had the same eyes that Beatrice did, and he looked at Beatrice with tears in his eyes. His eyes shifted to Wirt and in one singular moment, they understood each other.

Wirt pushed past Beatrice and shoved William, causing the slim man to lose his balance and fall onto the stick as well, impaling himself. He gurgled out a scream of pain, flailing. In one final burst of strength, Charles reached up and closed his large fingers around William’s neck. “The book…” he choked out, red spilling from his mouth.

Wirt could feel the bile rising from his stomach, but he opened the book and held it next to Charles’ face, who feebly murmured, “Fidentus...omnium...Mag-ister menti-um.... Magnesium...ad hominem...Mag-num...opus. Habeas...corpus. In--Inceptus Nolanus….overratus.”

With a feral scream Bill began to shake until his eyes rolled back into his head, his mouth hanging open. _“You can’t stop me! I’ll be back!”_   William's voice was high and screechy before it faded away into silence. The body went limp on top of Charles after convulsing one final time. Wirt stepped back, away from the bodies.

Beatrice pushed past him and fell on her knees next to her brother. She held his hand. “Charlie...I’m sorry, Charlie...please, please…” Her voice was shaking, and Wirt could see the large tears rolling down her dirty cheeks, leaving streaks of pale skin.

“K-kiddo, I love...you, okay? It’s...It’s okay,” Charles’ head fell to the side, his dark eyes dimming and rolling away from Beatrice. With a quiet sob, she closed his eyes.

“Beatrice...I’m sorry,” Wirt whispered, pushing away his own tears. He tried to ignore the image of his own brother who had come close to losing his own life.

She turned, and for a second he thought she was going to hit him, but she crashed into him, sobbing onto his tattered cloak. They stood there hugging each other, Beatrice’s grief filling the air.

 

The sun had set by the time they pulled apart, and everything was cloaked in darkness. Beatrice, wiping her hand across her face, set about trying to light lanterns, with Wirt following clumsily behind her. She’d taken over completely when he’d fumbled the candles twice.

“Beatrice…” he began cautiously, afraid to upset her. “Do...Are any more of your family here?”

She looked up at him, her face covered in smudges. “I don’t know, Wirt. It happened too fast.”

Wirt did not press her. Instead, he asked her something else, “So….we saw each other in dreams. That’s weird.”

Beatrice only looked at him, moving onto the next lantern. “Well, how did it happen? I don’t-- I don’t think that’s normal.”

“William….well, he told me he was a….a “dream demon”. I didn’t tell him about...us, but he told me that if I started having strange dreams when he showed up, it was because of him. Sort of like….I don’t know, something he gives off.”

“Right, right…” Wirt looked down again, “Hey, Beatrice?”

“What, Wirt?” she sighed, looking back at him.

“What do we do now?”

 

They decided that they would scour the hideout for any other people or any signs of William. Wirt quietly stepped aside and covered the bodies of Charles and William. After opening seven doors and exploring the rooms they guarded, they discovered Beatrice’s mother and her sister and youngest brother. They were all asleep, huddling into each other and were very malnourished. Beatrice’s youngest brother, who she told Wirt was named David, had skin so tightly clinging to his bones that they could see his ribs.

Beatrice woke them up with tears in her eyes and Wirt hung back, not wanting to intrude. Her mother pushed the other kids behind her with frightful eyes until she realized who was in front of her. “Beatrice?”

“Mom…” Beatrice collapsed against her mother and began to cry, waking the other two children. Wirt retreated and found himself back with the corpse of Charles and the empty shell of what had once been William. Carefully, while holding his breath and watching through half-lidded eyes, Wirt began to push William off of Charles, a sick sloshing sound emanating as he slid off the spear. Wirt gagged, but thought of Beatrice and attempted to drag William’s body away.  He could only make it a few feet at a time, but eventually he managed to drag the body into a side room without any windows and a lock on the outside.

Breathing heavily, Wirt slid the brass lock into place and rested his forehead on the door, trying to calm himself down. He’d gone from never having seen a dead body to seeing three in a very short period of time. He was sure that the gaping holes in Charles and William’s torsos would not allow him to rest easy.

A hand on his shoulder made Wirt jump violently and let out a small shriek. He turned around quickly, preparing to face the Beast or William or some other ridiculous enemy that vastly outmatched him. It was only Beatrice,

A smile twitched on her lips at his reaction, but he suspected she didn’t have it in her for anything full blown.

“H-Hey. Is...are you guys okay?” Wirt was blushing again and cursing his easy embarrassment, wishing he could have a conversation with a pretty girl without stuttering his tongue off.

“I...just wanted to say-- Thank you, Wirt. I didn’t have a chance to tell you.” She stepped closer to him, and he was acutely aware of the heat of their bodies. God, he was such a marshmallow-- to use one of Greg’s phrases.

“I...I didn’t really do anything…” He thought of her brother and her father. They had been the one’s who’d sacrificed their lives for her, not Wirt. He’d just showed up, hoping that he could help her, unaware of the real danger.

Beatrice looked at him, furrowing her eyebrows. “You did more than you know apparently, Wirt,” She leaned in and kissed his cheek, a blush on her freckled cheeks.”

 

The two of them sat by the creek, their feet dangling in the clear water. Though Wirt was sure that they were on the cusp of Winter, the water was not especially cold, and the sun was beating down on them. She was wearing a sky-blue dress, and her face was beginning to heal, most of the bruises fading into her skin. He had some bruises of his own, but they were still purple and angry, and caused him to sit gingerly.

“You have to go back.”

He knows that she’s right, but it still hurts the slightest bit. Since his return to the Unknown, he hadn’t really felt like...like he had back home. Back there people made Wirt feel like he was nothing, like he wasn’t anything special.

Beatrice made him feel like he was.

“You don’t want me to stay?”

She looked at him sharply, her hair flashing in the sunlight, “Of course I do, Wirt. You’re like the only person here that I actually like, besides my family. They're the only thing that I really have here, and I need them. Now  _y_ _our_ family needs you, Wirt.”

He looked down at the grass, his fingers curling around some taller blades and ripping them up. His reply was quiet, “No, they don’t.”

Beatrice pulled her feet from the water and sat on her knees, forcing Wirt to look at her-- not that he minded. “What about Greg?”

“Greg is fine. Everybody loves Greg, he can get anything he wants. He doesn’t need me.”

Beatrice groaned, balling her fists, “Wirt, shut up. You know that’s not true.”

The smile he offered her was small and sad, “It is, Beatrice. Besides, what about William? We don’t know what he meant when he said he was gonna come back.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes, leaning towards him. “Don’t make excuses now. We can worry about that when you come back to visit me,” she grinned slyly.

“Yeah?” His smile was genuine this time.

“Yes,” she assured, leaning in further until their lips touched. Being that it was Wirt and it was Beatrice, the kiss was a little awkward and a little clumsy, but Wirt’s heart was pounding out a thousand beats a minute, so he didn’t think it was that bad.

It didn’t matter. Wirt was confident they’d have plenty of time to perfect it.

 

They’d walked to the wall hand in hand, each with a giddy feeling bouncing around in their chests. Beatrice was smiling, and Wirt was fighting to keep his own grin at bay. It was easy for him when they reached the wall. Everything inside of him told him to tuck tail and run away, to never go back. He didn’t want to be clouded by darkness again; he wanted to bask in this light forever, with Beatrice.

She kissed him one mor time, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing against him. He wasn't quite sure how his arms had ended up on her waist, but he did not complain.

Well, not until she pulled away, just as breathless as he was.

“What...what if I just go back tomorrow instead?”

Beatrice shook her head, squeezing his shoulder. “You have to do this, Wirt. You can do this. Besides, we can still send each other letters and visit.”

“Yeah…” He turned towards the wall, taking a deep breath. “I really missed you, Beatrice.”

“You don’t have to miss me anymore.”

He looked at her, feeling the sudden urge to cry. He couldn’t do this.

_Remember that you are strong enough._

Wirt was blushing, “One more kiss for the road?”

Beatrice obliged, her own cheeks aflame.

 

The walk from the cemetery to Wirt’s house was not very long, but it seemed like an eternity to him. When he’d returned, he’d thrown off his hat, but kept his cloak because it was chilly here.

Every car that passed made him jump. He didn’t even know what time it was, or even what day. As soon as his house could be seen, even from very far away, Wirt considered turning around and going back to the cemetery.

But he had promised Beatrice, and he couldn’t break a promise to her, so he kept going until he was on the front step, standing outside the door. He wasn’t sure if he should knock or if he should just go right in or what the proper etiquette for this kind of thing was.

He settled on opening the door and calling out for his mother or his brother. “Mom? Greg? Is anybody here?”

His mother’s car had been in the driveway, but his stepfather’s wasn’t, so they could have gone out together. Wirt waited by the door for a few minutes, but no one answered his call, so he made his way towards the kitchen.  

Pamela was at the stove, her back to him. “It  wasn’t real, Pam. He’s gone,”she whispered to herself.

Wirt steeled himself, drawing up every drop of courage in his body, “M-Mom?”

She turned slowly with a sigh, and froze when she saw her son in the archway. Tears were welling up in her eyes as she quietly asked in a broken voice, “Are you real?”

“Mom, it’s me,” Wirt was uncertain, his arms hanging limply at his sides. “It’s Wirt.”

Pamela screamed, and then she ran towards him. He thought that she was going to tackle him at first, but she only wrapped him in a tight hug. She was crying and he realized that he was too.

“Oh God, Wirt, where have you been? We thought-- We were going to have to find a place in that s-stupid cemetery, Oh, God, Wirt,” She buried her face in his shoulder. “I love you so much. I thought I’d lost you for good this time.”

“No, no…” It was hard to talk around the lump in his throat. “It’s okay, Mom, it’s okay.

“I’m back.”

 

**Five Years Later:**

“Are you sure he’s there?” She asked, peering at a postcard that had the name of the town plastered on it. She set the card down, her other hand resting on the swell of her stomach. “Why would he be there?”

“He must’ve been summoned. This town’s got a bunch of crazy headlines coming out of it, Bea, and most of them focus on these two brothers-- twins. In one of the articles someone mentioned having help from their friend “Bill”. Sound familiar?” Wirt took a sip from his cup of coffee. “We can’t let him make any deals.”

“I know, I know….” Beatrice sighed, combing her fingers through her hair. A few strands got caught on her wedding ring, and she pulled them out carefully. “I just….I wanted to make it back to see my mom and David, y’know? If we go to this-- this Gravity Falls place, we’ll have to watch William-- or Bill or whatever he’s going by now-- for awhile, won’t we?”

Wirt looked away from all the pictures and articles to his wife’s pregnant belly, covered in plaid fabric. Since coming over to his side, Beatrice seemed to have formed a particular fondness for plaid, while Wirt still preferred his sweaters. He teased her about being a lumberjack sometimes, and it usually ended up in him having a bruise to nurse on his arm. Beatrice’s strength had not waned at all during her pregnancy. He changed the subject. “Have you picked a name you like?”

Beatrice looked over at her husband, a fire in her eye, “Well, you know, I wanted something manly and strong-- unlike you-- so I was thinking...what about Dan? Or Daniel? After my father.”

Beatrice seemed nervous, but Wirt didn’t know why. He’d been thinking along the same lines, and anyway, he thought the name should be special. This way Beatrice’s father could live on, obviously with Wirt and Beatrice’s shared surname, but still. Wirt tried out the name on his tongue, “Daniel Corduroy...sounds like a lumberjack to me.” He was teasing Beatrice, and she knew it.

She only shot him a smirk instead of smack this time. “Sounds like the perfect name to me, Mr. Corduroy.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos or Comment if you enjoyed reading c:


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